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<title>i want us both to eat well by karnsteins</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27717737">i want us both to eat well</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/karnsteins/pseuds/karnsteins'>karnsteins</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Outsiders - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Food as a Metaphor for Love, Gen, Grief/Mourning</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 16:13:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,095</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27717737</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/karnsteins/pseuds/karnsteins</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>the way dinner was with your parents was like this: a creaky table with your brother's initials carved into and yours joining soon enough with a switchblade; chairs that were older than the house all settled in together, dishes that had once been just for marriage cobbled together with whatever your parents could afford after so many years of you and your brothers breaking them</p><p>or: food, ponyboy, family, and loss.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>i want us both to eat well</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>the way dinner was with your parents was like this: a creaky table with your brother's initials carved into and yours joining soon enough with a switchblade; chairs that were older than the house all settled in together, dishes that had once been just for marriage cobbled together with whatever your parents could afford after so many years of you and your brothers breaking them.</p><p>there was you, pulling out plates and forks and spoons and knives putting them where they needed to go. soda with the cups, darry already old enough to learn how to cook at your mother's elbow, smiling before his eyes got hard and there was a vacuous emptiness where your parents used to be. you hadn't considered the idea, at all, that you could lose them, that you could grow up without them. they would always be there, warm and happy and there would always been dinner plenty for you all.</p><p>you all sat at the table together, food piling together. as a child, it always seemed to be a lot of food, unable to understand when things were running thin or when it was a meal that could barely be called as such. it didn't matter: your mother was there, your father was there, you were sandwiched in between your brothers. you all spoke and laughed and sometimes there was johnny squeezed in at the corner, sometimes there was two bit and his kid sister, sometimes steve beside soda, and eventually, sometimes there was dallas, hovering at the edge of your vision. </p><p>always, it felt like, there was this: hands reaching out, voices meeting each other, a warmth existed between all of you all at once generated by the food before you and the warmth of company. you had happiness here that your friends didn't have with their families gathered at the table. there was a warmth that existed inside of you all, that could be felt, almost seen between you all. </p><p>you wish you knew what it was then, that you could have valued it more, hung onto it more.</p><p>the first meal after your parents are dead are casseroles: endless casseroles supplied by neighbors and friends, bereft of the warmth you had before. you haven't been able to twist darry's arm yet into having chocolate cake for breakfast, you can't even think about it without something in you cracking, splitting wide open, the grief too overwhelming to think about. you eat what the neighbors give you until you feel sick, and you don't know if you can ever get used to the spaces your parents leave at the table anymore and you hate it, you hate it, you hate it, where did all the warmth and color go? </p><p>with them, into their coffins and you'll never ever get it back, you think.</p><p>the casseroles begin to taste like nothing on your tongue. the house seems bigger, emptier, more spaces to navigate, to deal with. </p><p>you wish you could learn how to do this without them easier, sooner. you're not sure if it will ever make up for your parents being gone, you and your brothers making chocolate cake for each other, soda pop using food coloring where he can, and you remembering what your brothers do and don't like as you cook for them make new, different grooves in you, changes the food you eat, changes the way you come to the table. there are more nights simply eating alone, breakfasts that are brief, less memories made in the kitchen together. </p><p>there are times when the other boys join you. it's not the same as when they were polite enough around your parents, devolving into shoving or kicking. a utensil sometimes sees completely foreign, two-bit's beers not the same as your mother's or father's, dallas bringing food from buck's sometimes. more plates smashed, more cups that end up on the floor, forks used to prod each other.</p><p>it's not the same, it could never be — you and your brothers try anyway, in your own broken ways. you find ways to have your own kind of warmth, to try and invite it back. it isn't the same, it will always be a little broken in ways that hurts your hands, your soul even with the warmth that still remains.</p><p>right when you think it can't get any worse, though, you're on the run. </p><p>you're dreaming of tables, of brothers surrounding you in the kitchen hurts now. all you can in your waking hours is to eat bologna now, on bread. you get so tired of it, you feel so hungry as you and johnny eat sandwich after sandwich. you think you'll choke on bologna, that it'll haunt you in your dreams how boring it is, how dry it is. </p><p>you eat and eat and when you and johnny curl up together, you dream of feasts, of the table with your mother's hand in yours, with your father giving you the last piece of chocolate cake and you yearn, you yearn, you yearn. the warmth, the happiness, the kindness that a table brought, that a family brought, that all the boys had brought together. even broken, you yearn for it again. what you and johnny have on here is even more alien than before: you're eating what you can that's simple, covert and scared of any moment. </p><p>there's no moment gathering anyone to a table. just a constant reach into the dwindling loaf of bread between you, cigarettes and water.</p><p>bologna tastes like fear and insecurity, mayo sometimes spread too thin or slapped on too thickly, sticking in your throat. every bite makes you feel sicker, but you don't have much. when dallas comes to pick you both up, the food from the dairy queen almost tastes heavenly. even when you choke on it at the admission with cherry, it feels better than you have before. </p><p>the fire takes it all. you think you'll taste nothing but ashes and fire and bologna for weeks on end, dealing with their deaths. nothing it seems can fix reality, nothing feels as if life didn't stop up there on jay mountain, forever. </p><p>you long to eat well, again. not just in a way that fills your stomach, but in a way that reminds you that there are good things out there, happiness and warmth with others. not in a way that reminds you of the people you've lost, the warmth that's not there anymore. </p><p>you don't know how or when you'll get it back. only that all you can do is try.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>sometimes you see a compilation post and just go feral, you know? 🤷🏽 comments, kudos, come hit me up on tumblr over @traumapeaks</p></blockquote></div></div>
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